


Every Kitten Has Claws

by RinzlersGhost



Series: Holiday Prompt Fics [12]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Blood Kink, Eventual Smut, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Out of Character Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Scarification
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:35:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 8,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28508292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RinzlersGhost/pseuds/RinzlersGhost
Summary: You are an Archdruid taken into captivity as a child. You're the last of your kind and you have a particular disdain for witchers... until you meet Geralt.Probably Out of Character Geralt. I've only ever seen the show.Geralt X Fem Reader
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Series: Holiday Prompt Fics [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2075340
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	1. Stroke of Midnight

The first time you met Geralt, it was on the eve of the biggest holiday event in the kingdom. To be fair, you were ninety-nine percent sure that he noticed you, but definitely for all the wrong reasons. You were slated to attend a party with Jaskier-- the only problem was that he needed a mount, and after much cajoling and promising never to speak of it and quite a bit of coin and a reassurance that you wouldn’t see the witcher (that had already turned out to be false), you had finally given in to Jaskier’s request and provided him with a beautiful golden palomino horse.

You weren’t a mage or witcher, but rather a druid with the ability to wildshape, though you preferred the term shapeshifter. A horse was easy to pass as, as were most animals; people were harder and you preferred to stay away from them. You had endured the humiliation of the bit and bridle before, and the one that Jaskier had bought for this event was... well let’s just say that you envied the days of working in a field with a harness attached to you instead.

“Nice horse.” Geralt murmured. Jaskier was... oddly quiet about it. “Did you rent it?”

“It’s a gift.” Jaskier replied.

“A gift.” There was nothing short of incredulousness in the witcher’s voice. “I don’t know anybody who likes you well enough to give you a horse.” You knew there was some truth to that. Jaskier was an  _ idiot bard _ , but you liked him well enough as a person.

_ Careful, witcher. _ You thought, but remained docile for now.

“Hm.” Geralt saw he wasn’t going to get an answer about why Jaskier was riding a horse that looked like it was bred for a king or queen, but certainly the bard had made an entrance on it, both with the way he’d dressed and also managed to decorate the horse. You let yourself be lashed to the hitching post beside Roach and the pair were long gone. You checked for a clear coast before phasing back down to a human and snatching up the saddlebags as cover because Jaskier, poor Jaskier, didn’t know a goddamn thing about horses. You were sure your back was red if not raw from the lack of padding or blanket between the saddle and your bare skin.

You slipped into an undisturbed stall, getting dressed and slipping on your mask. For tonight was one of the most prominent masquerade balls in all the world, and you weren’t about to miss it, sore back or not. You pinned your hair up with pearls and smoothed out your glimmering flimsy dress. There were some perks, you supposed, to be a doppler but everything you’d gotten, you’d earned through honest trade and work. You’d been wearing this dress for a long time, merely editing it more with each passing year with the things you’d earned, making it by all means your most valued possession. It was this blue and white piece with an ivory mask and tiara, and for once, you, the true you could blend in among the society you lived in. Though you valued the dress more than you did the society.

You stepped into the ballroom and all eyes were on you. There was a knowing smile on your face as you took in the room full of dancers and partygoers. The music soon resumed and you sought out your companion. Jaskier was at his lute, strumming a lively tune with the others when you found him.

“Lay down your lute and dance with me.” You murmured, dropping into a curtsy. It was intentional, for those that noticed you with Jaskier would certainly notice him more often after the dance was over. Jaskier cleared his throat, placing his hands into position. “If you start singing, I’m going to rip your throat out.” You whispered softly.

“You don’t approve of me singing an ode to you, Lady...?”

“Y/N.”

“Lady Y/N.” Jaskier murmured. “Thank you for this.”

“Do not mention it, Sir Jaskier.” You replied, swirling and dancing elegantly to the music. Rarely did you change partners but still made your way back to him at the end of the dance, dropping into a curtsy and him into a bow.

“My Lady.”

“Good sir.” You replied, making your way out of the dancing to sit at a table, nibbling along the good food. You were accosted by many men vying for a dance, but alas, not interested, boasting on the way Jaskier was a more than capable dancer which caused several women to glance at you and then to the bard, heading in that direction. Still, men were more interested in you. You had about had enough when you saw the witcher beginning to mosey in your direction, his hand on his sword, and decided that you didn’t need his help... or company either.

Your dagger landed in between the fingers of the man across from you and he yelped. “I will not miss again.” He took your point well and you snagged the drink sitting across from you, gulping down the ale. You had a preference, but right now you were locked eyes with the witcher from the side as you swallowed the rest in a large gulp. He seemed amused, turning away.

A little before midnight, you were hauling Jaskier outside for a moment.

“What are you doing?” Jaskier asked. “I was just... just... getting to the good parts.”

“Well, Happy Yule, Jaskier.” You replied. “Don’t let me keep you.” You were a little irritated. “It’s a happy little haven in there for men like you. I’m not some dumb little doll to be fawned over.”

“Will you stay until morning?” Jaskier asked.

“What? So that you can have a quick getaway from whatever noble’s wife you end up fucking?! Are you out of your mind, Jaskier?” You asked.

“Please. I’ll pay you.” He replied, desperation shining in his eyes.

“Or we could leave now before you get into more trouble.” You hissed.

“Will money not buy your company?”

“I am not a whore to be used, Jaskier!” You growled, teeth showing through.

“You uh... your teeth.” Jaskier mumbled. You bared them at him with a growl.

“I’ll bite you; I swear I will.” You hissed again.

“I thought the two of you might have been acquainted.” Geralt’s voice floated over and you finally saw him to the side, holding a mug of ale.

“Go away, witcher; this doesn’t involve you.” You murmured.

“So is the bard bothering you or are you bothering the bard?”

“Both.” Jaskier replied. “Come on, Y/N. Come inside and out of the cold.”

“I would prefer the cold right now.” You muttered. When Jaskier placed his hand on your arm. “Don’t do it, Jaskier; I’m not in the mood to be trifled with.”

“A fact I can very well see.”

“Then see it more and fuck off.” You growled, jerking your arm out of his grasp. “Go back to your oodles of women. I have a date with a mug of ale and a plan to get drunk.”

“So that’s a no to a getaway plan?”

“Fight your own battles, Jaskier. I’m your friend, not a whore.” You muttered, sinking to the steps once you’d fetched a mug of ale.

“Hm.” Geralt sat down on the steps next to you. “Not a fan of parties?” You raised an eyebrow slightly. “You’ve got nerve wearing that dress then.”

“Fuck off, witcher.” You muttered.

“Rude.” Geralt replied.

“Fine, Happy Yule, witcher. Now go away.” You grumbled.

“Don’t like witchers?” He asked. You actually met eyes with him and he was surprised to see orange irises meet his own golden ones.

“I’m fairly sure you’re probably alright because Jaskier hangs around you, but I’ve got bad experience with witchers. They like to hunt people like me. And I am not a fan of being hunted for sport.”

“What are you?” Geralt asked.

“It’s not your business, witcher.” You replied. The chime of bells rang out over the courtyard as midnight was finally struck. “Happy Yule, witcher.” You took your leave of him and of the whole affair.


	2. Bells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #9 is Bells

The second time you met Geralt was in a bar. You had taken your night away from the masquerade and gotten horribly wasted on mead in your own home. The damn bells of Yule would not stop fucking ringing and you were hungover and on your way to work, stopping to vomit on the side of the road.

Jaskier was happily crowing in the bar and you grit your teeth as you endured the pain bussing tables and waiting on patrons’ needs. It was nearly high noon and you’d been there since morning. Your stomach was turning. Your world was hazy but just clear enough for you to slog on through your day job. If it weren’t for Jaskier’s incessant singing about his night escapades.

“JASKIER! IF YOU DON’T SHUT IT AND PLAY A NICE LITTLE LUTE SONG, I’M GOING TO RIP OUT YOUR THROAT!” You snarled.

“Easy there.” Geralt purred out in this throaty hoarse tone.

“Witcher.” He knew by the tone of your voice, you weren’t pleased to know he’d stuck around. “Let me guess; someone had to drag Jaskier out of his mess. I’m surprised he can afford you, witcher.” You muttered sourly.

“It appeared his horse ran off in the night. I suspect it wasn’t tied down right.”

“What a stroke of luck for the poor horse.” You replied.

“Y/N.” Jaskier muttered.

“Don’t Y/N me!” You retorted. “Your company apparently keeps the witcher around. I’d be obliged if you left my town... and my tavern.” Yes, you owned the tavern and still waited tables. You pinched your money wisely.

“I can see well enough to know when I’m not wanted.” Geralt murmured, backing away. “Jaskier.”


	3. Home and Hearth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #23 is Home and Hearth

The third time you met Geralt, you were already pissed off. You collapsed to your bed as soon as your employees managed to get in for the night. You paid them well; they were loyal and took no bullshit, but you, you were fucking tired. You were almost asleep too, when a knock sounded at your door.

“FUCK OFF!” You growled. The knock sounded again and you stomped over to the door, flinging it open and finding the witcher on your doorstep. “I’ll say it again; fuck off, witcher.”

“Hm.” Was all Geralt offered, dragging Jaskier to the doorway. His face was bloodied and bruised.

You sighed in the back of your throat, pinching the bridge of your nose between your fingers.

“Fucking idiot.” You muttered, taking him off Geralt’s hands. “Hope the pussy was worth it, Jaskier.” You groaned, rolling him into your bed. “You coming in or are you just going to stand there and let all the warmth out, witcher?”

“I would assume that you wouldn’t want someone like me... You’ve got a barn right?” You shook your head. 

“I don’t have a barn, and you’re not spending the night outside. I might not like you, witcher; that doesn’t mean I don’t have a heart.” You replied. You piled logs onto your fireplace, keeping a warm crackling fire going as you settled down on your hearth.

“You care for him.” Geralt murmured. 

“Just enough to keep him alive. I’m done doing favors for him.” You muttered.

“How...?”

“Did we meet?” You finished. Geralt nodded.

“Jaskier found me when I was a kit.” You finally replied. “Nursed me to health. In return for my life... I do occasional favors for him... and he keeps witchers away, because most of them can’t stand him.”

“Oh, I can’t.” Geralt murmured.

“Yet here you are. You drink mead, witcher?” You asked. “Brew it myself.” You offered him the bottle and he took a swig, coughing after a taste of how strong it was.

“No wonder you were hungover.” Geralt muttered.

“Aye, I’ll drink to forget any man forgetting his place in this world.” You took the bottle back, tipping back a gulp.

“You’re quite handy with a dagger.”

“I don’t believe in a woman being docile. I’m not here to look pretty and be some man’s fucking doll, or be a fucking brood mare that pops out babies. Most men cheat anyways. I’m not interested in that life. I control my own fate. I will not surrender it again.” You growled, taking another gulp and offering the bottle back to Geralt. “What about you, witcher? Do you believe in fate?”

“Hm.” Geralt didn’t immediately reply but took the bottle back, taking down another swig.

“So how did you get swindled into attending a masquerade ball with Jaskier?” You asked softly, moving around the room to gather some food, setting down a small spread between you and the witcher. “Could it really be that you and I are not so different, and that a caring heart got you into this mess?” You offered him some of your own food.

“Hm.” Another small sound but a smile tugged at his lips. “He’s annoying but he’s not the worst person in the world.”

“Yes, Jaskier is an idiot bard.... But...” You nibbled along the dried meat. “He is a good person when he’s not thinking about fucking women. I swear that child loses all the good sense in his head when he sees a beautiful woman.”

“Why would he not... try that on you?” You snorted for a moment, shaking your head as he finally accepted the food, hungrily chowing down.

“The most excitement in those women’s lives is Jaskier coming into their bedchambers. I’m not like that. I want freedom. I want to travel. I want to see the world beyond my tavern. I want to  _ fly. _ ” You replied, eyes lost beyond Geralt. The two of you continued to eat in silence.

“I should go.” Geralt murmured.

“What do I owe you for Jaskier?” You asked.

“Hm.” Geralt shook his head, standing. You gathered dried rations into a leather bag-- plenty of oats and carrots for the horse, some dried meats and tack for Geralt, and some healing herbs ground into a salve. You followed him outside as he untied Roach’s reins, placing the leather bag into his saddlebags. “Mm.” He did not agree with your actions, especially after watching you place a bottle of mead in there too.

“Sell it or drink it, I have no care.” You murmured. “Geralt... thank you for bringing Jaskier to me.” You whispered. “Safe travels, witcher.”

He nodded curtly to you, mounting and heading into the night.


	4. Joy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #25 is Joy

Joy was the holiday season two years down the road when you actually had a reason to be celebrating. Joy was Yule that you could practically taste. You had long since sold your tavern and bought a large piece of land with the profits that you’d nipped away at most your life. Now you were at the hub of all brewery trade between the North and the South.

Your piece of land had turned into a trade town where all merchants and travelers were welcome. You kept your house out of it, tucked far away in the woods, but you felt as if you hardly ever spent time there. You were busy, managing trade and travel. Two years ago, you hadn’t thought you would ever be here, yet you were. Still, some days your thoughts lingered on the witcher and his freedom. You suspected a certain bottle of mead may have given you the trade you had here today. One little flight wouldn’t hurt, right? Yule was almost here. You would not be needed for a while.

You ruffled your feathers before picking up your wings in flight. It was nearly the quickest way around, as long as you managed not to be caught. Jaskier was easy to find, trekking up the side of the mountain in the most unbelievably red get up. It was a good thing he hung around Geralt; wearing that absurd getup could be seen a mile away.

“What a day.” Jaskier murmured.

“Damn it, Jaskier! Why is it that everytime I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it’s you shoveling it!”

“Well that’s not exactly fair...”

“The Child Surprise, the djiin, all of it! If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take  _ you _ off my hands!” You were surprised at Geralt’s words, and even more surprised at the rage you felt at them. Geralt turned on his heel and stalked back to the overpass. You buried your talons in his hair with a screech, drawing blood on the witcher as he swung his sword, golden eyes watching as you curved just out of reach.

You landed on Jaskier’s outstretched arm. “Kit.” He breathed out cautiously. Strands of white hair were between your beak from where you’d pulled them out.

“Get out of here.” Geralt growled.

“Come on, Kit.” Jaskier murmured, walking away.

_ Kit? _ Geralt’s eyes narrowed slightly.  _ Jaskier found me when I was a kit. _ He remembered Y/N saying those words. Could that be true? Were you a doppler? Had you overhead his words to Jaskier and swept in to defend him?


	5. Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #30 is Magic

The fifth time you met Geralt, you had actually asked for him. It was years and years down the road. It was outside the holiday season, and you had noticed that someone... or something was poisoning your animals. You couldn’t manage to be everywhere all at once; you had tried it once and found it exhausting.

You had been to the tavern asking for a drink but the mead you were given had tasted off, and you’d realized that you were being poisoned. Luckily, you had caught it quick enough to purge it and left your would be assassin drowning in his own blood out in the streets. You had sent out Jaskier with coin to find Geralt of Rivia.

The tavern doors slammed open and a witcher stepped through. “Aye, can’t you read the sign? No witchers allowed.” Your bouncer was fairly good at his job, and the burly barbarian pushed his way through the crowd, getting ready to toss him to the streets.

“I heard there was need for a witcher. Where is the job?” He asked.

“No. There is a need for Geralt of Rivia.” You replied. “My job is for Geralt.”

“You?” He sneered. “A woman? Since when do women hire witchers?”

“I’m not hiring.” You replied.

“Then I’m robbing.”

“Out!” Your bouncer tossed the witcher into the streets. “Guards, escort this witcher to the gates!” Several of your armed guards pushed their patrol into getting the witcher out and you sank back to your seat. You were so, so drained of it all when you noticed that you were not alone. 

“Ale? Mead? Wine?” You asked.

“Hm.” Geralt’s voice murmured.

“Witcher.” You breathed. Jaskier must have snuck him in the back way. “Go back the way you came.” He stood, sliding along the back wall and you soon followed him out. You stayed close to the witcher as he mounted his horse, keeping a hand on Roach as the two of you walked together.

“Trying to hide me?” Geralt asked. But no, there was something... unusual about your behavior. Your hand stayed to Roach, you stayed to Roach, occasionally glancing over your shoulder, rather to make sure you weren’t being followed. Jaskier joined your other side, casually strumming on his lute and humming a song. It was quiet between the three of you as you turned to your home, to find it in flames.

“No.” You breathed out quietly. Your hand came across Roach’s hindquarters. “Go!” You didn’t turn fast enough away and the explosion rocked the small area. Smashed and shattered glass and wood rained down on you, cutting against you. You knelt to the ground, pressing your fingers into it and willing the Earth to open up and swallow everything whole, closing up over it. 

You never felt Geralt’s hand lift you to the back of his horse as everything went black.

“Witcher.” You groaned out softly, coming to on the back of Roach. “Jaskier...”

“Is safe.” Jaskier replied quietly. “Thanks to you, Kit.”

“Told you not to call me that.” You grumbled, head lolling against Geralt’s arm.

“She’s exhausted.” Geralt murmured. “We need to get some rest.”

“Hunters.” You mumbled.

“You’ll be safe with me.” Geralt growled. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, witcher.” You murmured, fading into darkness again.


	6. Starlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #14 is Twinkle Lights but I'm substituting Starlight

You awoke beneath the stars. You felt stiff and sore as you sat up. Things ached in places that hadn’t been touched in a long time. You vaguely remembered being on the road and traveling in Geralt’s arms.

Jaskier sat across from you, staring into the fire.

“Jask...” You murmured softly. “Where...”

“Safe.” Jaskier replied, more serious than you’d ever seen him.

“Witcher?” You asked quietly.

“On patrol.” He murmured, coming around to you with a bowl in his hands. “Here, drink this.” It was a bitter tea but you recognized the healing herbs in it for strength and clarity of mind. You shifted back down to the bed roll and blanket, staring out at the stars. “You never told me you were magic.” You didn’t immediately reply, just staring up at the starlight filtering through the trees. “Were you trained by Aretuza?”

“No.” You replied quietly. “I don’t believe in the same ways of magic that Aretuza bases their beliefs on. My people call me a Flaminika, but I’ve heard less pleasant terms over the years. Doppler, shapeshifter... a few more derogatory terms.” You muttered.

Your view of the stars was suddenly blocked by the witcher. “You’re a druid. What do assassins and hunters want with a druid?” Geralt asked.

“Clearly more than just a good bottle of mead.” You muttered.

“You said you’re a Flaminika, an archdruid. Why hide it? Why aren’t you with your people?” Your eyes flitted to Jaskier.

“Most of my people are gone.” You finally replied. “Killed by witchers. Our land was invaded and our conquerors wanted the pests that lived there gone. I was put in a cage as a child and sold to the highest bidders, to kings who wanted an intelligent hunt, forcing me to wild-shape and endure being chased and hunted by princes and witchers and anyone who would love to fox-hunt.” You murmured.

“I eventually found my way to Jaskier after a brutal hunt. When he was found harboring me, we both were thrown from the kingdom. I had used up my usefulness.” You muttered. “A few months ago, I noticed that my animals were being poisoned. The next night I was poisoned in my own tavern and left my would be assassin drowning in his own blood as I purged it myself. I... do not know how to fight that which I can’t see, Geralt.”

“So that’s why you sent for me. I am surprised you trust me. I’ve had things to say about Jaskier.”

“I had my revenge.” You replied. “You may be a man of harsh words, Geralt; but you’re a man of good heart. Besides, I often find that monsters aren’t beasts; they’re usually human.”

“Hm.” The witcher left after that, back on patrol.


	7. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #31 is Hope

“I don’t know what you see in him.” Jaskier murmured. You snorted dryly.

“I know you’re not talking about the witcher.” You muttered.

“Who the fuck else is out here?” Jaskier replied.

“Stars only know.” You gazed up into the night.

“What do you see in him?” Jaskier asked.

“Hm.” You adopted one of Geralt’s mannerisms. When he didn’t want to answer or didn’t have an answer, or was simply just irritated by someone else’s answer, the witcher only hmed quietly.

“Don’t you start.” Jaskier muttered, exasperated.

“You won’t get an answer you like, Jas.” You murmured, pulling the blanket up over your chest when you heard steel ringing out in the distance. The whistle of an arrow breezed across the air. You caught it in your hand, drawing your dagger and throwing it in the same direction, hearing it make its mark in a throat. Geralt limped back into the camp.

“Time to go.”

“Alrighty then.” Jaskier put his hands on Roach, packing up. You, however, had different plans. The dagger you’d thrown wasn’t the only one. Your hands closed around a silver stiletto, walking around Geralt. 

“Where’s my witcher at?” You asked. Geralt raised an eyebrow slightly as you stepped in close, pressing yourself to his side.

“Right here.” You giggled softly, leaning in close.

“Geralt knows I hate witchers, but I hate liars even more than that.” You pressed the silver stiletto to the base of his throat and he hissed, skin screaming as he reacted to the silver. You didn’t even give him time to untransform, killing him and ripping off his head, spraying you and your knife with blood as you stalked off in the direction he’d come. You found Geralt’s sword and sheath, picking it up and taking it with you as your pace quickened, rage overcoming you. When you finally opened your eyes, there was nothing left but blood and bodies.

“The fuck is...” Geralt groaned, looking to the bloodied bodies of men and horses around him as he opened his eyes. You leaned on his sword.

“Whoever made this for you? I like them.” You murmured, tossing the sword and sheath back in his direction.

“Sharp you know.” Geralt muttered. 

“Shut up. It was my turn to save you. Never mind how I got to the conclusion that they sent a doppler of you, to confront me.” You knelt before him, your orange eyes blown wide from the adrenaline of the battle. “I’ve fought witchers before. I do not know that I would so willingly fight you.”

“Why?”

“You give me hope, Geralt.” 

“Hm.” You knelt to his side, holding your sleeve to the nasty gash on his forehead. “For what?” You shrugged, looping one arm beneath his legs.

“Sword.” You replied and he picked it up. You lifted him with a little effort. 

“For a better life. For a life that isn’t on the run or in hiding. You don’t run from things, witcher; one day I hope to have the courage to do the same.” You carried him back to the camp where Jaskier had already packed up Roach and doused the fire. You put Geralt on the back of Roach with a sigh. There was a temptation to climb up there too, but you ignored it, simply walking beside them with Jaskier on your tail.


	8. Cozy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #20 is Cozy

Cozy was a barn stall, warmed more than the inside of the tavern and you shared it with Roach. “You’re really going to sleep out here?” Geralt asked.

“Haven’t you spent the night in a barn before?”

“I’m not the only one covered in blood. Come inside. Get a bath. Jaskier insists.”

“Jaskier insists on a lot of things.” You muttered. Geralt leaned on the wall of the stall. “You’re easy; you’re male. You can survive with little coin to buy you new clothes. For a woman, not so easy.”

“Then wear men’s clothing.” Geralt replied.

“Are you offering?” You asked back. 

“Hm.” Geralt gestured inside and reluctantly you followed him, sinking into the warm bath water and scrubbing down. A pile of clothes landed next to the tub. 

“Courtesy of Geralt.” Jaskier murmured, pouring a bucket of water over your head. You growled out at him. “You’re just as bad as him when it comes to getting clean, you know.”

“Ugh.” You hissed out, taking the bar of soap and lathering it between your hands, combing the soap into your unruly hair. You were doused with another bucket of water, this one cold and growled again. “I swear Jaskier, you are asking for it.”

He only chuckled as you soaped up and rinsed off, taking the dried blood from your skin and turning the water copper brown. You found little nicks and scratches from where the explosion had taken its toll on your skin. There was a large gash on your shoulder where glass had rained down on you, but it seemed like you were the only one who had taken damage, thankfully. It didn’t even hurt anymore. You finally stood, stepping out of the bath and pressing a warm towel to your front. Lithe thin white scars wrapped all around your body, residual from your time as a child being hunted, chunks of flesh taken by biting hounds, arrow marks buried beneath skin.

You felt fingers touch across the scars, rough fingers that had held swords and fought back monsters.

“It’s abhorrent that my kind did this to you.” Geralt murmured. “On behalf of my guild, I’d like to apologize.”

“I’ve come to the terms, Geralt, by your actions, that not all witchers are bad. Rather, it is probably the people who hired them who are the monsters.” You replied. You didn’t stop his fingers from tracing the matted flesh cut by whips, ugly thin lines that marked all across your body. Rather you dried off in front of the fire, getting dressed. It was not your first time being naked in front of Jaskier, however, being naked around Geralt was... it made you feel vulnerable.

“Come with me, to Kaer Morhen.”

“The Keep of Witchers? What good would that do?”

“You would be safe. Whatever, whoever is hunting you would not dare cross them all.”

“And if I am being hunted by one of your own?” You asked. “It is a possibility. I’m one of the few people who has killed witchers and lived. What then, Geralt?” You asked. He stepped in close to you, hand cupping your chin, leaning in close and pressing his lips to your cheek.

“I should like to see them try to fight me.” Geralt whispered softly. “I will let no more harm come to you.”

“You’re sweet, Geralt. But don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“You won’t let me try.” He murmured.

“I’m the last of my clan, Geralt. It would not surprise me to find a bounty on my head. I would never be able to live freely. And if you got tangled up in this mess, neither would you.” You murmured. “Go on your way, witcher, and forget about me.”

“Y/N.” He finally used your name.

“Just kiss him already and get it over with!” Jaskier hissed, edging out the door in search of a cute bartender. You shook your head in warning at Jaskier, stepping away.

“Shit.” You finally murmured. “Make things awkward, why don’t you, Jask?” You muttered. Geralt waited until you were almost out the door.

“Stay the night with me. It’ll be warmer than a barn stall with Roach, and you won’t wake in the morning smelling like horse.”

“Will I wake in the morning smelling like Geralt of Rivia?” You asked.

“Hm. Only if you want to.” Geralt replied with a smirk. You followed him into the room, curling up in the bed. The bed behind you dipped as Geralt settled in for the night.


	9. Wishes *Explicit/NSFW*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #18 is Wishes

But sleep didn’t come as easy to you as it did to the witcher. You tossed and turned, unable to drown out the chatter of the bar beneath you, and finally just ended up sitting on the edge of the bed.

You could leave now if you were careful and quiet, but oddly enough you were seriously considering Geralt’s offer to Kaer Morhen. You hadn’t paid Geralt for an escort. You had paid him to kill your hunters and now you were all on the run. You had no more money to give him; everything had been in your home, other than the few things you kept inter dimensionally in a chest stored away.

You glanced to the sleeping witcher. He looked rather peaceful. It was nice to see him at peace. For a moment you could even let yourself drift in a delusion that he could be yours, that you could come home to each other, for who would touch the woman the white wolf laid claim to?

“Mm... I can feel you staring.” Geralt murmured. You blinked-- the fantasy lost to the winds. “You’re awake.”

“I never fell asleep.” You replied. “Just wishful thinking.”

“And what is it you wish for?” Geralt asked. “Freedom? Money? Weapons?”

“To be untouchable by my hunters.”

“I think anyone in that position would say the same.” Geralt replied, finally opening his eyes. “What is it you wish for?”

“Mm.” You eyed him wistfully. He was an impressive stature of a man. You could wonder what he tasted like, if he would let you taste the sweat of his body after a tough mission, if he would be opposed to you tasting the copper of his blood from little scratches and nicks. Geralt growled softly, nose twitching.

“I can smell you, kitten.” Geralt murmured. You still didn’t tear your gaze away from him, just meeting his eyes briefly. You made your way over to him, standing at the foot of the bed, just eyeing him, and he turned out for you, laying on his back, stretched out, little more than the sheet covering a swath across his hip, tented in the middle.

“You usually sleep nude?” You asked, realizing the precariousness of the whole situation.

“Unless I absolutely can’t.” Geralt replied. You considered it for a moment more before finally giving in, letting your tongue drag across thick thighs up to his hip, nibbling on the flesh there before biting down, spilling his blood into your mouth, tasting the copper warmth spilling down your throat. You let your mouth travel across the way, exposing his cock to the air, twitching with pre-cum just beginning to bead at the tip.

You tasted him again, salt and sweat, taking him into your mouth as he groaned out a reply. “Geralt.” You murmured softly, fitting most of him down your throat, still pushing yourself to take more. You wanted all of him. His hand pressed down against the back of your head, hips rolling to thrust against you. You didn’t care that he would bruise your throat, that his fingers were digging into your scalp. Your own were digging into his thighs, leaving smart little red marks against the witcher’s skin.

Your eyes watered against Geralt’s pressure but you slowly relaxed into his rhythm, working your tongue with your mouth until you could feel him tense. Fingers knotted into your hair, pulling roughly, but you refused to back down, keeping him buried in your throat as he came. “Fuck!” Geralt growled, tugging more sharply in your hair, finally drawing you away from him. “Why kitten? Why so needy for it?”

“Part of my wish is that I could go with you, fight with you, have that freedom.”

“And the other part?”

“That we could come home to each other if we did settle.” You murmured. “What witcher would dare to hurt the woman the white wolf has laid claim to? What hunter could stand against your wrath?”

“And you do not care that I myself am a witcher?” Geralt asked.

“If I did, I wouldn’t have done that.” You murmured. “Geralt.” You whispered, finally kissing him, finally tasting him. 


	10. The Mark of the White Wolf *Explicit/NSFW*

You let your hands cup the witcher’s face, feeling the stubble there from days on the run. Your thumbs smoothed just under Geralt’s eyes as you drew back to study him. You would never be able to ignore the golden hue of his eyes; they reminded you of your own when you were close to phasing or in most cases,in the height of your emotions. “Geralt.” You tasted his name again, a whisper on broken lips.

“Having second thoughts about laying with the enemy?” He asked, almost teasingly.

“You took care of a man who’s been like a brother to me. You’ll never be my enemy, Geralt. Even if I did have my revenge on you for all your harsh words. You’ve never laid hands on Jaskier, not seriously enough for a witcher of your abilities. And no, I’m not having second thoughts.” You nuzzled into his neck, nipping at the flesh there.

“Then what are you... oh. Oh.” Geralt swallowed as the hilt of a dagger pressed into his hand. “I’m not going to kill you, kit.”

“I’m not asking you to kill me.” You murmured. “If the White Wolf of Rivia wants to lay claim to me, he may. If the White Wolf of Rivia wants to keep me, I would prefer that he lay his claim to me in blood.” Geralt furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “All my life, I’ve known nothing but being hunted and marked by those who sought to wield power over me and my kind. I’ve learned to deal with the pain and I’ve learned to hide who I am. But you touch my scars and I feel vulnerable, Geralt. I will not shy from pain now.”

“I do not wish to... harm you.” Geralt wrinkled his nose, but you let out a dry laugh. 

“You are a witcher. I’ve no doubt there will come a time when you may not be able to stop yourself. But know this, if I take your mark, I expect no more excursions in taverns, for I am a jealous woman, and that bite on your hip is nothing to what you’ll get if I find you in the arms of another woman.” You purred out huskily.

“You want my witcher symbol... on you?” Geralt questioned. “Why not just take the pendant?”

“I do not want the pendant. I want a union in blood.” His eyes flickered darkly for a moment. “But of course, do not do this unless you are sure.” You murmured, straddling across his waist. His eyes flickered to the dagger and then back up to you. “Do not bind me to you unless you are sure. Do not bind yourself to me unless you are sure.”

“Would you like proof of my willingness?” Geralt asked.

“It is one thing to fall into temptation and taste you. It will be another to know you so intimately.” You murmured. “I will go no further without the mark.”

“Do you present yourself to every man this way?” You smirked, but turned your head away, getting up and taking the sheet with you, curling up in front of the fireplace, lighting it with the touch of your fingers.

“Most men cannot see the value of beauty beyond the skin. My scars are usually well hidden, and some of them still are. Jaskier is the only one who has ever seen them all, but being naked around him no longer bothers me. He is very mother hen-ish.”

“Will you show me all your scars?” Geralt asked. You thought one day the question might inevitably come, but not from the person asking it. Softly, slowly, you lowered all the magic barriers around yourself. Yes, this body definitely bore the marks of witcher hunts, the scars white, almost silver with age. You tugged off the shirt and pants, baring yourself to Geralt, mostly anyways. “Witcher scars.” He murmured, tracing the flat of a large scar that was seared into your flesh. “A witcher’s blade. But.... not a slash.”

“A burn.” You replied. “It was not a witcher holding the blade, even if it was his weapon. I can still remember his face as he stared into the face of death, my face, choking on his own blood. It was his employer who gave me the mark, after he died.”

“A few of these I recognize as trademarks. These witchers, these marks should have killed you.” Geralt whispered. You finally turned your head to Geralt, revealing the twisted fine scarring and the white eye that had long been blinded, though you had long since learned to compensate for it.

“Should.” You replied. “But I am still druid, and I do not bend myself to the wills of men. Though...” You paused, tracing a finger down his jaw. “I would make an exception for you.”

“You still consider me a man? Not a mutant or a monster?” There was some hesitation there and you could hear it waver in his voice. You leaned in, finding his lips with your own, taking him, tasting him, nipping on his lower lip. “A witcher?”

“ _ My witcher.” _ You breathed out.  _ “My Geralt of Rivia, no others’. Mine.” _

“Possessive much?” Geralt asked. You let out a low hum of a chuckle, moving your lips to his neck and down his shoulder. Teeth dragged against his skin, drawing little pricks of blood that beaded and welled over, and then your tongue was on them, soothing them, nothing that a little healing wouldn’t fix and his body responded so well to it that it didn’t even scar. Not that you expected it would, considering how shallow it had been. “Hm.” It was the second time you had tasted his blood; he was not an unobservant person. He had definitely taken notice of it. “Do you drink it or just fancy the taste of it? I cannot imagine it tastes very good.”

“Wildshaping is how I’ve stayed young. How I’ve moved from place to place without being detected. How I’ve eaten and clothed myself when money is not an option. You would be one of few who can withstand a bite.” You nipped all along his arm, leaving sharp little red marks but those you knew would fade.

“But why bite? Why taste it?” To that you shrugged. You were a predator first above all wild-shapes you had taken. It was how you had learned to survive. To taste one’s own blood was to be reminded how to survive. To taste another’s blood was to be reminded that they were still alive. You had learned to differentiate how close one was to death by the taste of their blood alone. 

“More or less the question is do you want me as much as I want you?” You asked. Geralt glanced to the dagger laying on the bed and back to you. It trembled in his hands for a moment before he steadied himself, glancing to his pendant and beginning the first cut. Blood sluiced between your breasts but you let him work, using the sheet to wipe it away so that he could see clearly. Blood loss meant little to you; you had survived worse. “Geralt.” You whispered softly, watching him study the mark.

“I should get the healing salve...”

“Leave it alone. Let it scar.” You murmured. He blinked up at you, confusion in his eyes and you silenced it all with a kiss, claiming his lips, taking them, fingers entangling in his hair. “Geralt.”

You were by no means gentle with him. Many women had fawned over his scars, but you, you were focused on the prowess of his body. And he had preferred to take as little of a role as possible to prevent from damaging mortal bodies. You did not give him that choice; he followed the instinct of his body, hands on your hips, leaving damning bruises in the shape of his fingerprints as you took his cock to the hilt, moving up and down, meeting him in desperate thrusts.

“Geralt!” His name was ever a cry on your lips. He wasn’t sure when or how the two of you had managed to stand, or why you were letting him dominate, but the smile on your lips and your nails digging into his shoulders told him that you were actually enjoying it. Or the fact that you hadn’t asked him to stop ravaging you. He was not one to be a gentle lover and he doubled his efforts to make you come. He could feel the wood of the wall beneath his hand crack with the pressure. His eyes were blown wide in pleasure and he was surprised to see that yours were orange. Fingers pressed into the back of his head, pressing him into your chest which he accepted with a growl, teasing your nipple with his tongue. He tried not to bite but couldn’t help himself, kneading your flesh with one hand. He was seized with the urge to bite down into your supple skin and could not hold out, sinking his teeth into your breast, marking you more personally. Hot copper blood rushed into his mouth, leaking down your stomach from between his teeth, and you screamed out his name. “Geralt, please! Don’t you dare stop now!”

Geralt carried you to the bed, hooking your legs over his shoulders, sinking deep and hard, each time drawing a mewl of pleasure from you as you bucked up against him. Your hands knotted in the sheets as he touched on your clit, circling it with a smirk. He had to know you were close, because he was endlessly teasing you, short shallow thrusts while rolling your clit underneath his thumb. “Geralt!” You gasped out, seeing white as you thrust up against him and you were full again as your legs trembled, pleasure exploding all over you. He watched you become undone by him, nails digging into his thighs as he continued to thrust, only needing a few more to come himself with a hiss between his teeth.

“Kit!” You finally blinked away the stars to watch his face as he reached his climax, eyes closed in pleasure. The room was a mess. You both were a mess of sweat, blood, and other bodily fluids. He collapsed to the bed next to you, panting for breath. Eventually sleep took you both.


	11. Every Kitten Has Claws

You were woken by Jaskier barging into the room. “What the hell happened to your back?!” Jaskier asked. You blinked and realized that you were tucked beneath Geralt who was sprawled out over the bed.

“Hm.” Geralt groaned out a reply.

“Is that blood? You just had a bath! Why’d you go out and get bloody again?”

“I’ll pay for another bath.” Geralt muttered. “Go away, Jaskier.”

“Where’s Y/N?” You chuckled softly beneath Geralt, placing a hand on his hip, briefly waggling your fingers in Jaskier’s direction before digging your fingers into Geralt’s skin.

“Oh. Oh. Ok.” The door nearly slammed shut as you made a shooing motion and you definitely heard Jaskier yelp as he was caught in the crossfire.You yawned, nestling into Geralt’s chest, basking in his warmth.

“Mmm.” Geralt rumbled out a moan. “I’ve been beaten, bloodied, bruised. I’ve been stabbed, bitten, poisoned, all manner of things happen in fights. But few people I know would actually stand up to me and take it.”

“Jaskier would, but again, it’s the mother hen sense.”

“You are strange, and you enjoy pain to the point of it bringing you pleasure. You enjoy my cruelty and relish in it.” Geralt mumbled.

“I don’t find it cruel when it’s exactly what I asked for. It was consensual, Geralt. If you had gotten out of hand, I would have stopped you.” You replied. “Believe me, I would have stopped you. But what you did? Nothing short of phenomenal.” You murmured, kissing his chest.

“Mm.” He finally raised up on his elbows, glancing down at you. You were absolutely smeared with blood, dried copper brown. “You never did answer my question. Will you come with me, to Kaer Morhen?”

“You think I will leave you now?” You let your hand rest on his hip. “You’re mistaken, Geralt.” You leaned up, capturing his lips for your own. “You’re stuck with me now.” 

“I will find what’s been hunting you. You will be free.” Geralt murmured.

“On contrary, I’ve never been more free than bound to you. Perhaps I will... even learn to fight again.”

“You can fight though.”

“I know self-defense.” You replied. “But true fighting, a druid fighting? I haven’t called on those powers, that prowess in a long time.” You licked a line up his cheek, tasting the salt on his jaw from dried sweat.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would say that you’re marking me.”

“And who says I’m not?” You asked.

“Mm.” Geralt hmed, a small smile etching its way to his face. “Years ago, I once told Jaskier that I don’t need anyone and I don’t need anybody needing me.”

“It’s nice to be needed.” You murmured.

“I was surprised that you sent him to find me, knowing how you feel about me, knowing that you came to his defense when I was most angry at him, knowing how you feel about witchers in general. But... he told me that you were in trouble, that he hadn’t seen you like this since he picked you up the first time. And I couldn’t not go.” Geralt murmured, sighing heavily. “I never dreamed it would amount to this.”

“Does it upset you?” You asked softly.

“No. I actually find it... comforting. You stand and take that I’m witcher so... I don’t know. Somehow it doesn’t bother you.” 

“Heh...” You chuckled. “I’ve been in your boots, Geralt. I’ve heard the names hurled at you. I’ve borne them myself. Monster. Mutant. Worse terms for women, amidst the ever grossness of men and what comments they have about my body. You’re not alone, Geralt. Just hope you’re prepared for what you’ve unleashed.”

“And what’s that?” You grinned up at him.

“The tongue isn’t just for pleasing you,  _ witcher. _ Let them slander you; they may not like what follows.” Geralt shook his head.

“I do not agree, but that has never seemed to stop you.” He murmured. “Come. I’ll pay for a warm bath. You can have it.”

“Or we could share it.” You suggested. He shook his head, wrapping a sheet around his waist and going out for only a moment, enough time for a servant to bring buckets of warmed water into the room, pouring them into the tub. Geralt soon followed back into the room, two mugs of ale in his hands, still yawning. 

“Figured you could use a drink. It’s no druid mead, but it’s something at the least.” He kicked the door shut behind the servant as you sank into the warm water, accepting the ale and taking a swig of it.

“I was being serious. Join me.” You offered again.

“I doubt the tub could hold us both.”

“It may yet. It may not. Where’s your sense of fun, Geralt?” You asked. He hmphed, very carefully lowering himself into the tub with you. The wood creaked but held still. Your legs were entangled together and water spilled over the edges. You leaned back, drinking your ale, and closing your eyes. You could see your homeland behind them and it etched a smile onto your lips. You finished the ale, washing off and toweling dry, binding your injuries and getting dressed.

“You have a sense of determination about you.”

“Well, I’m not going to give my hunters what they want. They want me dead? I hope they’re prepared to fight for it. Too long have I been docile, no longer.” You replied, tying back your fierce mane. “After all, every kitten has claws.” You curled your hand in on itself, flexing the black razor sharp claws before letting your hand fall back to your side, human again.


	12. Author's Note (ON HIATUS)

This story is currently being put on HIATUS until the new season of the Witcher comes out. I deeply apologize for the delay but I need new content and I don't have it right now. I do have somewhat of an ending to this story, but it's not concrete enough for me to write it down right now.


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